Together Or Not At All
by Scholar for Christ
Summary: "Memories flooded back in a whirlwind of images: Murdock shaking, one arm braced against the panels, the awful, huge chunk of metal in his side, blood spilling down its jagged edge, pain filled green eyes pleading with him not to leave even as his voice begged Face to go..." Just some good Murdock Whumpage for ya'll. No slash.
1. We Go Out

Author's Note: This story takes place during the eight or so years the team was in the Army, before the plates and Lynch's involvement. I'll be posting a new chapter next Monday!

Warnings: Language, mild gore, and feeeeelz :P

Chapter 1: We Go Out

Face awoke to a throbbing in his chest and head that very nearly sent him toppling back into oblivion. Drawing in a shaking breath, he tried to remember what had happened and how he'd wound up feeling like Bosco had thrown a truck at him. He remembered the mission, getting the surveillance photos of the enemy's base safely on the copter's black box… they'd been on their way back, he and Murdock, when….

Forcing his eyes open, Face was instantly bombarded by blinding light. He squinted, blinking rapidly till his vision adjusted and the desert came into sandy focus. He was facing his right, head and chest resting uncomfortably on the controls in front of him, looking out the smashed window at the gritty landscape and the bits of chopper resting here and there where they'd fallen. Smoke obscured the scene and he coughed, the pain in his chest flaring and speaking of cracked, maybe broken ribs.

"H-Hey, Facey? You awake?" Murdock's voice sounded strained and a pang of worry caught in Face's chest. He shifted, biting back a cry as he discovered another injury in his dislocated left shoulder. He managed to turn his head to face Murdock who was slumped in a similar position. The pilot had his right hand braced against the controls in front of him, his helmet discarded at his side. Dried blood matted the pilot's unruly brown hair and obscured his expression which was… happy? Face frowned, levering himself off the controls slowly and painfully.

"Murdock? What happened?" Face coughed, waving away a cloud of smoke and displaced sand. The front window had been cracked in several places and the dusty sand thrown through the cracks when they'd crashed was trickling down from the dash, spilling across the dials like miniature waterfalls to land in Face's lap. Murdock didn't answer right away and Face took the moment of silence to look his friend over more thoroughly. It looked like Murdock had taken a rougher beating than he had. Face could see a cut on the captain's head, just below the hairline, that was the source of the blood running down his cheek. More cuts and bruises decorated the man's arm and face but it was what he couldn't see that got Face's heart pounding against his abused ribs. Murdock's left arm was hidden from sight but by the way the guy was leaning on his right – like a tent hanging off only one pole – it meant the left was about as useful as Face's dislocated one. On top of that, Murdock was shaking, really shaking, and the lopsided smile on his face wasn't enough to hide the pain and fear in his eyes.

"We… uh… we had a bit of a m-mishap involvin' a G-TAM."

"A what?"

"G-Ground t'air missile." Murdock hung his head and panted breathlessly, fingers curling slightly where they clutched the broken meter in front of him. Face scrambled to assemble his thoughts.

"Okay… Okay, does the… does the radio work?" He winced as his ribs protested loudly but was rewarded for the effort of speaking by Murdock's head bobbing slightly.

"Yeah… Yeah, I put in a… I called in some… some help a l-li'l while ago. Sh-Should be here soon." Head somewhat clearer, Face was just able to make out the words Murdock whispered to himself. "Okay… I get it… st-stop hurtin' already…"

"Murdock? Murdock, what hurts?" The captain's head stayed down, resting on his arm which was locked at the elbow, looking like it was the only thing keeping the wounded man from crumpling forward against the dials like Face had been moments before. "Murdock, you gotta help me out here. We're gonna be fine, but you need to tell me what's wrong so I can make us a plan, okay, buddy?" Murdock's head rose a few inches and he glanced over his arm toward Face, gaze drifting across the Lieutenant to rest somewhere behind the conman's seat. When Murdock spoke, his voice was stilted and strained but Face recognized the fear in his friend's tone and it sent his own dread leaping up a few notches.

"Th-… Th'missile h-hit our side." He swallowed thickly, licking his lips and painting them red with blood. "M-My door blew in an'…" A strained breath, "…I think… I think it's _in_ me." Face felt his blood run cold, his mind refusing to understand the situation and he hated himself for making Murdock speak again since it obviously hurt him so much.

"Wh-What?"

Murdock lifted his head a few inches more and Face suddenly saw how pale his friend was.

"Th'door, it's in… it's in my side an'…" He grimaced, drawing in a trembling breath between clenched teeth. "… an' my arm's b-burnt up pretty bad." Mind still not comprehending the horrible scene Murdock was painting for him, Face struggled to unfasten his seatbelt, talking frantically past the rush of panic in his chest.

"Okay… Okay, just lemme get outta here and I'll check it out, okay? Cripes… Just hang tight for a minute, bud." It took him longer than he liked but his fumbling fingers managed to get the belt undone and he kicked his door mostly open, gritting his teeth against the pain. His ribs screamed at him for rest but he pushed all his pain to the back of his mind as he hauled himself out of his seat with a groan. The world was too bright and hotter than seemed right with the chilling coils of dread winding around his heart. The chopper's nose was pressed into the sand dune that had failed to cushion their fall. That left Face to make his way around the tail, weaving between scraps of metal and plumes of smoke and stumbling on the rocky, sandy ground until he'd reached the other side.

There he stopped and just stared for the longest few seconds of his life.

The missile _had_ hit the side, incinerating the interior as well as severing the tail from the body in an instant and rendering the chopper useless even under Murdock's expert guidance. But it was the cockpit door that drew and held Face's horrified gaze. Huge shards of metal bent inward, charred black and jagged along the edges.

The biggest of these was thrust into Murdock's side, spilling blood down the twisted grey metal.

"Oh man… holy-" Face finished with a string of curses in his head, voice cut off by his own jarring half-run toward his friend. The cockpit window was broken out too, glass shards still glittering across Murdock's lap. The captain was breathing hard, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and his whole body shivering. _Shock,_ Face's mind unhelpfully supplied, and he cursed whoever had shot off that missile to a slow and painful death. The pilot's left arm hung at his side, angry red burns running from hand to elbow. "Murdock? Come on, look at me, man."

Murdock's head rose, pain fogged eyes meeting Face's and struggling to maintain contact. Face scrubbed his good hand down his face, suddenly and terribly lost as to how to proceed. Trying to open the door was out. In fact, removing the hunk of metal from his friend's side was out entirely, at least until the rescue team arrived to stop the bleeding which would inevitably get way, _way_ worse when the thing came out. Face estimated about two or three inches for the metal currently thrust between his best friend's ribs and that thought alone made him feel sick and dizzy. That left damage control and keeping Murdock awake until they got here. Face squinted up at the sun, trying to figure how much time they had till nightfall. He groaned aloud when he saw that their early morning mission had officially become a midday mission… and the uniform jacket across Face's shoulders had become heavy and oppressive in the noonday heat.

Thankfully, Murdock wasn't wearing his. It'd been hard enough for the General to get Murdock into fatigues at all, let alone into the uncomfortable desert camo sweatbox of a jacket. The captain had opted instead for the sandy-brown tee and camo pants for which Face was eternally grateful. No jacket meant Face didn't have to choose between cutting the thing off and probably hurting Murdock further in the process or leaving him to roast like a gunpowder-nuked steak on the eccentric pilot's grill. Face wiped the sweat from his brow and met Murdock's eyes.

"Okay, just gimme a sec." Face prepared himself for the onslaught of pain he knew would come and slowly began working his arms out of his jacket. "Won't be much help if I pass out from heatstroke." Murdock nodded and returned his gaze to his lap while Face struggled and pulled and finally got his good arm out of the sleeve. Sweating more from the agony burning in his shoulder and chest than the heat, Face finally freed himself and tossed the jacket aside, turning back to his friend and the ruined chopper. The conman then struggled to get his mind to muddle out a list of injuries from most severe to least so he could start somewhere but Murdock's voice cut him off partway.

"Fa-ace?" The name broke on the captain's lips and Face's eyes focused on his friend's ashen features. The Lieutenant fought hard to control his breathing, the tight, panicked gasps making his ribs burn with pain. "I d-don't th'nk I c-c'n…" Face lunged forward with a startled curse, catching the shaking pilot awkwardly with one hand as Murdock's arm gave. The pilot's chest heaved against Face's arm as Murdock gasped, eyes clenched tightly shut as he fought off a wave of agony.

"Murdock? Come on, man, don't give up on me already!" Murdock's good right arm came up and clutched at Face's sleeve, his panting breaths growing frantic. "Hey, hey! Slow down! Calm down, just breathe deep. Come on, you were doin' it just a second ago, you can do it now." _Right? Please, be able to do it now! _Murdock struggled against his lungs for a few seconds more before his breathing fell into a sort of even rhythm. "There you go… just like that, just breathe."

Face twisted to scan the blinding desert for any sign of rescue. No choppers. No plume of dust kicked up by jeeps. They were utterly alone and the panic was clawing its way up Face's chest. He had no way of knowing how long ago Murdock had made contact on the radio. Help _could_ be here in minutes… or they could take hours and that was time Murdock just didn't have right now.

Something warm thumped down on his arm and he looked back to find Murdock's head resting limply against him, warm, shaky breaths tickling his skin. Cursing softly, Face shifted, trying to find a better way to hold his friend up because leaning him forward was out of the question. The hunk of metal in his side would only do more damage if he did. With his left arm useless, Face was forced to lean down, maneuvering his head and shoulders through the cockpit window and bracing his good arm across his friend's chest, keeping Murdock in his half-slumped position.

"Hey, Murdock?" Face let out a huffing laugh. "I don't want to sound like a broken record but I need you to look at me." The only response he received was a slight tensing of the captain's muscles. "Come on, man, I really, really need to see those crazy eyes of yours. Look at me, pal." The blood matted head on his arm shifted, lifting slowly and weakly until Murdock's pain-teared eyes met his. Seeing his friend's strength dwindling, Face leaned his head forward, catching Murdock's sagging brow with his own and levering his head up, wincing as his dislocated shoulder hit the window frame.

"There you go. Okay, we're gonna be okay. Just keep your eyes on me, alright? I'm gonna get you outta here, you hear me?" Brows meeting, noses touching, eyes locked, Murdock stared into Face's eyes and swallowed hard.

"It h-… hurts." He drew in a shaky breath. "Face, it… it hurts l'k hell." He swallowed again, wincing and breathing hot, coppery breath on Face's chin. The Lieutenant's chest was screaming at him to stand up straight… that or fall down, but he couldn't do either. Not without breaking contact and if he did that, he didn't know if he could get Murdock back again.

"I know, buddy, I know. Help's on the way, okay?" Murdock didn't answer, too busy taking in tight, shallow breaths. The miraculous, blessed sound of an approaching jeep sounded behind him and Face let out a breathy chuckle. "See? What'd I tell ya? Just hang tight, bud. Cavalry's here." Face gently pulled back, letting Murdock rest his head on the conman's arm again while he turned to the jeep that was racing toward them over the dusty ground. They'd seen the chopper, were headed right for it, but somehow, Face still felt the need to shout to them.

"Hey! Come on, hurry up! I've got a wounded man here!"

The jeep stopped a few feet from the wreckage, sending a cloud of dust billowing across the way. Face coughed, adjusting his hold on Murdock as the captain coughed too, speckling the dials in front of him with blood.

"Come on!" Face's voice was growing frantic now, the only thing keeping him from shouting further being the medics that rushed out of the dust cloud, setting a stretcher and supplies on the ground before heading his way. Face shifted, trying to give the medics a better view of his friend.

"Don't touch the door!" he warned, moving so they could see the hole in the door. "He's stuck. The door – the metal piece there – it's got him pinned." Impaled was too horrible a word to use aloud but Face thought it… and he had to swallow the nauseous horror in his throat before he could speak again. "His arm's been burnt and his head's banged up pretty bad too." The medic, Sykes, his uniform said, nodded once and reached past Face to support Murdock's body.

"Go on, Lieutenant. I've got him." Face hesitated, unwilling to leave his friend but common sense won him over. He couldn't help Murdock by getting in the way. Straightening, he gasped in pain, stumbling and nearly tripping on the bits of metal strewn across the desert floor. Sturdy hands caught him and he cried out as they jostled his arm. A flurry of movement later, he was seated in the back of the jeep, a young medic wiping the blood off his face and saying something about a possible concussion. Face ignored him. He was watching the man over by the chopper door, watching him call a colleague over, watching them exchange worried looks, watching as the second man hurried to a second jeep that'd pulled in beside the first.

"Pike?" Face spat, glaring at the man who'd just stepped off the desert-tone jeep.

"Peck. Nice to see you too. Looks like you boys got in a bit of an accident." He flashed Face a greasy smile before making his way to the passenger side of the chopper. Face watched him, eyes moving to the medics again who were working around the hunk of metal, trying to slow the bleeding. Pike came back into view, the chopper's black box in his gloved hand. "Nice work keeping this thing intact. I guess the mission's not a total loss after all."

Face started to say something less than friendly, but the medic he'd been ignoring must've been warning him to brace himself because his angry retort was cut off by a yelp of pain as his shoulder was shoved back into place. The medic apologized, wrapping Face's shoulder and digging out a sling from his pack while Pike smirked and turned to Sykes, who'd left Murdock with another.

"Sir?"

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"The Captain's in bad shape but I think we can get him out if we can rig something to cut through the meta-"

"No."

"What?" Face and the medic spoke at the same time but Pike ignored Face's outburst, focusing on the man in front of him.

"We don't have the time. We're in enemy territory and we've made enough of a scene here already. We don't need to waste any more time on a man who obviously won't survive the trip back to base."

"I can save this man, sir! I just need-"

"This is _my_ command, Lieutenant." Pike glared poison at the older man. "And I say we go."

"Sir-"

"Or maybe you'd like to explain to the General why our entire rescue team and the mission's photos wound up in the enemy's hands?"

The medic frowned at Pike and Face's heart froze as he nodded sharply.

"Yes, sir."

"Good."

"_What?_ Pike, you can't do this!" Face shoved the young medic off him, ignoring the pain in his ribs and the sling that hung loosely around his neck, not yet adjusted to fit around his arm, and clambered out of the jeep to face Pike on even ground.

"This is _my_ team, Peck. I can do whatever I deem necessary." A smirk played at the corner of his mouth and Face felt a rage unlike anything he'd ever felt before make his blood boil. Pushing down the urge to break Pike's nose, he opted instead for a "drop dead" glower.

"I'm _not_ leaving him."

Pike shrugged.

"Fine by me. You can come along or I can complete your mission and deliver the photos to base while you and your dear Captain Crazy over there get riddled with bullets. Makes no difference in my mind."

Face opened his mouth to display some of his more colorful language but Pike cut him off.

"Except… I don't think the medics will play along with your plan, Peck. They're pretty stubborn about leaving men in enemy territory."

"Sounds like they're on _my_ side then," Face snarled back, hatred making the blood pound in his ears. Pike just smirked at him.

"I said 'men', Peck… half-wits like your Captain don't qualify."

Face's vision blurred and by the time it cleared, Pike was on the ground, dazed, his nose gushing red and more than one good dark bruise growing on his face. Leaving Pike to the medics, Face stormed over to the copter, keeping his hurt arm wrapped around his ribs because if he didn't, they might just fall out… at least it sure felt like it. The medics had left, packing their things into the jeeps, the only signs of their work being the bloodstained gauze wrapped around the entry point in Murdock's side and the slightly more awake look in the pilot's eyes. Probably due to the pain they'd inadvertently caused while working. Murdock looked up at him as he reached the window, green eyes meeting his with a confused frown.

"Face? Wh-What's goin' on?" The Lieutenant took in the way Murdock's arm was shaking, barely supporting him, and he leaned against the window frame, pulling the sling from around his neck.

"Here…" It took some doing, and Face's newly set shoulder was sending a hailstorm of pain through that side of his body, but he managed to get the sling rigged across Murdock's chest and around the seat. "Can you lean on that?" he asked softly, trying and failing to ignore the argument brewing over by the jeeps. Sounded like Pike wanted to move out but Sykes was making a fuss. Murdock tested the makeshift harness gingerly, leaning gratefully into it when it didn't give, and let his arm drop to his lap.

"Th-Thanks."

"No problem." Face glanced at the group to his right. Looked like the medics were winning... but somehow, Face got the impression they were only arguing against leaving him, not Murdock. The pilot's gaze followed his, eyes flicking from the argument to Face and back. Pike had just thrown up his hands in defeat, stalking to his jeep while the head medic headed for the copter. The man stopped just close enough for Face to hear him properly but not close enough to see the wounded pilot. Probably his conscience giving him grief for abandoning a wounded man. Face was less than sympathetic.

"Lieutenant? We need to head out."

Face shook his head, fixing his most determined glare on the man.

"No. Not till he's out." The medic sighed, shoulders slumping.

"Look, we can't just yank him out of there and we don't have the time to cut through the-"

"You don't know that."

"The enemy could be on us any minute, Lieutenant! We just don't have the time!"

"_Why?_ Because _Pike_ says so?" Face's voice had risen to a shout, the awfulness of the situation making his chest feel tight. They couldn't really expect him to leave his best friend out here! Not like this.

"Because that's the way it is, Lieutenant! My job is to save the men that I can save and that's _you_. There's nothing I can do for him now!" The medic swung a hand at the chopper and Face opened his mouth to argue, to say anything and everything in the vain hope that it would save his friend, but Murdock's strained voice stopped the words tumbling in Face's mind. Stopped them dead because his friend's voice was soft and pained and trying not to sound scared.

"F-Face? It's okay, I w-… I want…" He trailed off, fear-bright eyes seeming to say the exact opposite of the words slowly forming on the Captain's lips. "I want you t'go."

"No, Murdock. I'm not-"

"Face. You n-need t'go. You're… You're h'rt too. You can't jus' st-stay out here." Pain glazed eyes watched him and Face frowned, unable to understand what he should do when Murdock's eyes were speaking so clearly against his voice: _I can't stay out here either. I'll die._

"Go. I'll be okay." Murdock's voice argued back. "I'll be okay. Y-You said so… right?" A choked, forced laugh. There was no mirth in the weary green eyes.

_ I won't be okay, not if you leave. We both know that._

"F-Face?"

_ I don't want to die here… not alone._

Finally, Murdock gave up and closed his eyes, cutting off the frantic messages and focusing on breathing instead. Face watched him for a moment, heart in his throat and lungs burning. Finally, he turned his attention back to the medic.

"I'm staying here, doc. Go on back to base and make sure you let Colonel Hannibal Smith know that you left two of his men in the desert to die." He was thankful his voice was steadier than his legs which felt like they were made of jelly. Turning away from the medic's shocked expression, he locked eyes with his best friend, pulling the canteen from his hip and thanking God it had survived the crash. He unscrewed the cap, reaching past the broken glass to help Murdock lift his head. "Here, drink this." Murdock accepted the water gratefully, taking a few sips and breathing a sigh of relief as Face used a bit more to wipe the worst of the blood and sweat from the captain's face.

Face wasn't expecting to be taken from behind. He certainly wasn't expecting the prick of the needle in his arm or the sudden, shouted orders for the men to help load him into the jeep. Face struggled, body howling at him to stop but heart screaming to keep fighting. Somewhere, he heard Murdock's startled voice call his name and he lunged for the chopper which seemed further away than it had a few seconds before. Somehow he broke free, just for a moment, just long enough to rush to the window and lean down to catch Murdock's eye, willing him to believe the frantically muttered words.

"I'm coming back, buddy. I swear, I'll get Hannibal and we'll come back for you. I'm _not_ leaving you out here, okay?" Murdock's eyes watched him fearfully but he nodded, jaw clenching with determination. Face glanced at the medics who were arguing heatedly with one of Pike's Sergeants. The first jeep had already left, its dusty trail still visible in the distance and from the sound of things, the Sergeant was eager to follow. Blinking back a drug-induced haze, Face turned back to Murdock, reaching out to rest a hand gently on his friend's shoulder.

"I need you to promise me something." Murdock looked up into his eyes as Face hesitated, afraid to suggest the possibility of Murdock's death. "I need… I need you to promise me you'll be here, okay? And… and promise me you'll be… you'll be alive when we get here."

"I p-… promise."

A ghost of a smile flickered at the corner of the captain's mouth… then he was gone, replaced by the confusing swirl of bright desert and medic's arms. He fought, he couldn't help it. They were pulling him away from his teammate, an injured teammate who needed his help. But the desert was growing darker and his limbs heavier. Blackness enveloped him and he hated it, even as he drifted off into drugged sleep.

* * *

When Face awoke, it was to the buzz of voices, the clatter of men at work, the chop of helicopter blades and a warm weight on his arm. He shifted, opening his eyes with difficulty and scanning the sun-dappled interior of the tent. Hannibal sat beside the bunk, a hand on Face's arm and an unreadable something in his blue eyes.

"Colonel?" Face rasped, trying to remember what had happened and why his CO would be looking at him with such a strange expression. Was it disappointment? Anger?

Grief…?

_ No…._ Memories flooded back in a whirlwind of images: Murdock shaking, one arm braced against the panels, the awful, huge chunk of metal in his side, blood spilling down its jagged edge, pain filled green eyes pleading with him not to leave even as his voice begged Face to go.

Face's eyes widened and he struggled to sit up, fighting against Hannibal's restraining arm.

"Hannibal! We have to go back! We have to-"

"Face. Face! Look at me, kid!" Face didn't want to. He didn't want to confirm his suspicions, didn't want to see the pain and loss in the older man's eyes… didn't want it to be true. But the soldier in him couldn't ignore a direct order. He met the frost blue eyes, pleading silently for Hannibal to have a plan, something to fix this, make it right again.

"H… How long was I out?"

Hannibal hesitated before saying in a soft voice, "Three days."

Face let out a short, breathless laugh.

"What? You're kidding, right?" The look on the Colonel's face said clearly that he wasn't. Three days. Three days since the crash… but it felt like only three hours… maybe less. Hannibal was talking again but Face's mind was still reeling. This could still all be a dream. It wasn't too late… not yet… right?

"Pike brought you back three days ago, said your chopper was hit and you'd radioed base for a rescue team."

"No… no…" He shook his head. This couldn't be right.

"Face, by the time he found you, you were overheated, injured, and hallucinating. The medics all attest to that." Hannibal's voice softened and he put a hand on Face's shoulder. "He's gone, Face. He was gone when Pike got there."

"No…" Face was growing frantic now. He'd _seen_ Murdock, spoken with him; he spoke with him _after_ Pike arrived. This couldn't be right. Even as he opened his mouth to tell Hannibal, explain what he'd seen and how things had _really_ happened, a small voice in the back of his head reminded him: it had been three days. Hannibal might not know what had happened before the rescue team reached the base but he wouldn't lie about this, he had no reason to. Surviving three days alone in the desert with only a half-filled canteen would be hard enough… doing it skewered on a metal spike was impossible. But that meant…

Hot tears stung his eyes and he turned away, not wanting the Colonel to see. He took a few deep breaths, trying to force back the tears and just _think_ past the gnawing ache in his chest. It was no use. And along with the pain grew a terrible guilt. He'd promised Murdock, _promised_ he'd come back. He might not have said it out loud but he'd sworn to himself that Murdock wasn't going to die out there… and then he'd left. He could still see those fearful, pain-filled eyes, still hear the cracked, strained voice calling his name as he was hauled away by medics who were far too strong for him to fight. He could still see Pike's smirking face as he spoke casually about leaving Murdock to die.

_ Pike._

A burning rage replaced the pain and before he could think rationally about anything, Face had shoved Hannibal's hand away and stood, stumbling dizzily but headed for the tent's door and blind to everything but the memory of Pike's sneering face etched in his mind's eye. Something caught him around the chest and he lashed out blindly, snarling curses and threats meant for Pike but aimed at anyone who could hear. A pang of agony flared in his chest and he gasped. When his vision cleared, he was sitting on the edge of the bunk, Hannibal and B.A. across from him, both sitting on the neighboring bunk. Hannibal fixed an incredulous look on him.

"What on earth was that about, Lieutenant?" Face didn't answer, still catching his breath and mentally cursing his ribs for slowing him down.

"He was shoutin' something about Pike. Said he was gonna kill him." B.A.'s voice was low and concerned but it got Face's attention.

"I _am_ gonna kill him. Don't try and talk me out of it, boss. Not after what he did."

"Which was what exactly? Face, he led the rescue team that saved your life!"

"_He killed Murdock!"_ Face's voice was a broken shout but he didn't care; he needed them to know the truth. Then maybe they could help him think up a fitting end for Pike.

"Murdock…?" Hannibal's voice was a hoarse whisper, dawning comprehension glowing in his eyes, but he waited for Face to continue. Beside the Colonel, B.A.'s fists clenched tightly, a dangerous glint entering his dark eyes.

"He was alive when I woke up, banged up real bad, but he was alive. There was this…" He scrubbed a hand across his face, trying to wipe away the memory of bright-red blood on dark grey metal. "The missile hit the side, near Murdock's door and… and there was this big piece of metal that'd been shoved in- into his side." B.A. cursed softly but Hannibal remained silent, prompting Face to continue with a small nod. Face took a deep breath, ordering his thoughts. "I kept him awake till the rescue team got there, but…" Here his jaw clenched tightly. "All Pike wanted was the photos. If I hadn't been up and moving… he probably would've left me there too."

"What are you saying, Lieutenant?" Hannibal's voice was sharp and angry but Face recognized it as protective rage. He already knew what had happened. He was just waiting for Face to confirm it. So he did.

"He left Murdock there, told the medics there was no time to cut him free and that he was pulling out with or without them." Pike's team had been the medics' only protection, weighed down as they were with their first aid supplies. Without the rescue team to provide cover fire, they would've been sitting ducks. "They grabbed me, drugged me up with something and split." Something dangerous flickered in Hannibal's eyes and he stood abruptly, fists clenched, and headed for the door.

"Hannibal? Where you goin'?" Bosco Baracus was not a man to be easily intimidated but the look the Colonel turned on him would've been enough to stop a full grown grizzly in its tracks and it definitely stopped the Sergeant.

"To negotiate an execution."

* * *

Five minutes later, Hannibal stormed into the General's tent, Corporals and Sergeants scattering in front of him like birds from a storm as he moved to the General's desk. Morrison frowned up at him across a desktop of maps and files.

"Colonel." The greeting was wary and stiff, no doubt due to the murderous look in the Colonel's eye.

"You _fool_. You unprincipled, ignorant _waste_ of a uniform!" A single look from the General cleared the room in an instant and Morrison glowered up at Hannibal, remaining authoritatively seated, although the terseness of his tone suggested he was close to losing his cool.

"Do you have a purpose for this visit, Colonel Smith? Or are you just here to sputter curses at me for saving your boy?"

"You knew." Hannibal pointed a finger at Morrison's chest, rage making his voice a dangerous wolf's snarl. "You _knew_ when you sent Pike that he'd bring back that box, no matter what the cost. You knew if you sent _me_, I'd do the _right_ thing and choose my man's life over some blurry photographs of a half-built base!"

"Of course I did, Smith, that's why I sent Pike! We needed someone with a cool head to go down there and retrieve the images before the enemy got their hands on them and found out we knew the base's location!"

"_Damn_ the base! _Damn_ the images! You sent a glorified assassin on a rescue mission for a black box, _not_ my men!" Hannibal shook his head, letting out a bitter, humorless chuckle. "How a gutless old degenerate like you ever became General, I have no idea!"

"Colonel…"

"_You traded my boy's life for a worthless pile of postcards, Russ!"_ Hannibal slammed his hands down on the General's desk, glaring hatred across the maps at the man. Morrison was silent, clenched fists shaking with rage as Hannibal's voice lowered to a contemptuous growl. "And I will _never_ forgive you for that."

"What do you want from me, Hannibal?" Morrison's voice had risen as well now. "I had to get those photos back. That was my job, that was Pike's job, and it got done. That's all the government goons care about! I'm sorry your boys got caught up in all this but we're in the middle of a war here, Colonel. Men die and there's nothing you or I can do about it."

Hannibal straightened, blue eyes cold as they regarded the man he'd once called friend with disgust.

"_You,_ Russ. _You_ left my boy out there and covered Pike's tracks when he fetched your stick. What I _want_ is my pilot back here where he belongs… but since there's nothing you or I can do about that… I want Pike-"

"Hannibal…"

"Shut up, Morrison, and let me finish. I want Pike grounded from all missions until such time as I see fit to release him."

"And how long would that be, Hannibal? Years? Because I don't think-"

"Not years, General. If I find my man alive, he'll be free to go as soon as I return." Hannibal turned to leave, stopping at the door as the General's voice followed him.

"And if you don't?"

Hannibal turned a stormy glare back to the General.

"Then I take what I'm due."

With that, Hannibal Smith swept out of the tent with an indomitable purpose burning in his mind. Rescue… or revenge.


	2. Together

_Author's Note: Chapter two, as promised! I still own nothing, btw._

_Warnings: More mild gore, more feelz and more whumpage :D_

_And to all of you who reviewed: Thank you so much! They fuel my creative energy and give me wonderful little boosts of self-esteem throughout the week. *showers lovely reviewers with confetti and cupcakes* (also, The-Time-Travelling-Hippie requested that I not let Murdock die. No worries there. I can't stand to leave my readers on a sad note and if I killed off Murdock, Hannibal would find me with his special set of skills and take me down… and that would hurt. ;P)_

Chapter Two: Together

Murdock tried not to panic as the medics dragged Face away. The sling was holding him up well enough but the pain was agonizing and he felt dizzy and thirsty and somehow hot and cold at the same time. The sound of the jeeps leaving sent a pang of desperate fear through his heart but he forced it down because panicking meant breathing faster and breathing hurt. So he sat there, sweating and thirsty and exhausted. Still, he tried to stay awake, he really did. He'd promised he'd be alive – a stupid thing to promise when he was playing shish kebab with a ruined helicopter but Face wouldn't've left if he'd refused – and alive meant awake. Or awake meant staying alive? No. He had to stay awake to stay alive… right? Murdock blinked muzzily down at his lap. Fatigues. Why'd he have to die in fatigues? They were so uncomfortable and dull and not nearly as talkative and friendly as his own t-shirts. Why'd he agree to wear them in the first place? Oh yeah… Bosco had hidden all his shorts and Hawaiian shirts after the failed luau. The pilot wondered vaguely if the big guy had hidden them in the Black Forest tents because that would give Murdock the perfect excuse to poke around in there and put itching powder in Pike's drawers.

He was just muddling through where he'd hide the can of powder afterwards when a shadow fell over him. Instinct told him to play dead so he obeyed and kept his head down. A quick glance at the reflective dials in front of him, though, provided the image of a man dressed in enemy uniform and his heart did a flip and began to pound. The man was speaking to someone nearby and Murdock caught enough of it to realize they thought he was dead and were discussing salvaging the downed aircraft. No one else got too close to the cockpit either. They must've assumed the medics wouldn't leave a wounded man in the field._ The one time you think you've got it all figured is the one time things've been changed up on you,_ he thought dryly. It was very dry. His mouth was dry… and so was his throat.

Murdock bit his lip hard as his chest tightened and his body tried to cough the dust from his lungs. He held his breath, feeling the pressure building in his head but dang it! It was a choice between suffocating or being shot and neither fit very well with his promise to Face. _Stupid body, quit tryin' to save my life or you'll get me killed!_ His body didn't listen. Sparks danced before his eyes and Murdock coughed.

He did his very, _very_ best to muffle the sound but the instant he inhaled, it felt like he'd breathed in the entire desert in one go. _Not_ coughing was impossible now so he focused instead on breathing which was almost just as impossible with the grating, hacking coughs coming harder and faster and with barely a second between… and he'd thought breathing was painful… this was _agony_. Voices were shouting outside and Murdock struggled to look up. The reflection in the dials offered a view of far too many men surrounding the chopper and one approaching with some tool in his hands.

Another torturous cough spattered blood across the scene and Murdock's vision began to tunnel. Fire burned in his side and past the scent of sweat and blood, he could smell smoke, not from the chopper but from something far, far too close for comfort. Then a metallic clunk sounded to his left, heralding a wave of pain unlike anything he'd felt before. Unvoiced, coppery screams stopped up his throat and dribbled, warm and wet, down his chin. The last pinprick of light faded from view but Murdock swore to himself he'd wake up again before he died. At least long enough to say goodbye when Hannibal and Face and Bosco showed up. If they ever found him… because the last thing Murdock felt before he passed out were hands pulling at him and the rumble of a jeep against his back.

* * *

When Murdock woke again, he was lying on a stiff cot, feeling sore, dizzy, sick and thirstier than he'd ever been before. His side was radiating agony throughout his body and his head pounded but he didn't have time to notice much more than that before someone was speaking to him. He felt hot and the words didn't make any sense. He tried to speak past the desert in his throat but suddenly, hands appeared out of nowhere to hold down virtually every part of his body. Murdock's eyes flashed open, catching a brief glimpse of angry, Iraqi faces and a dirty concrete ceiling before a cloth came down over his nose and mouth. The world tilted, tipping his head toward the ground and suddenly he was drowning.

Water cascaded down his face and his mind unhelpfully labeled it "waterboarding" before launching into a full-out panic. He tried to struggle but every movement, no matter how small, paralyzed him with pain. Just when he thought he was really, honestly going to drown in the middle of a desert, it finally stopped. The captain gasped for breath and coughed harshly, blinking the water from his eyes and squinting up at his captors. A dirty, buzzing bulb hung from the ceiling, offering enough sick yellow light for Murdock to see the five men surrounding the cot. Four had been holding him down and were now backing off as the fifth set his now empty bucket on the ground and spoke again. He was speaking Arabic, Murdock knew he was, but he just couldn't get his foggy mind to translate. The man seemed upset and shouted an order to the others before stepping back. Two of the other men came into view. Murdock's eyes widened in alarm at the sight of the knife held tightly in one man's hand and the small club in the other's. _Time to go_, instinct told him but just the effort of pushing himself up with his right arm was enough to make his head swim and lights dance in his vision. Pain lanced through him and he grimaced, taking in tight, sharp breaths and keeping up a mental dialogue that was more feelings and images than speech.

_Get away. Get somewhere safe. Too exposed here, let's move. Stay safe, wait for rescue. It'll come. They'll come. _

He wasn't entirely sure how he'd done it but when Murdock looked up again, it was from the corner of the room, his back pressed against the wall and the two thugs towering over him where he sat. He blinked fuzzily at them, wishing he wasn't so cold and wondering how he went from roasting to freezing in just a few minutes. Their boss shouted something but it was cut off by a thunderous bang. More men poured in from outside and there were sounds of a scuffle, guns going off and shouts of pain and anger filling the room. The chaos made Murdock's head throb, so he just closed his eyes, leaning his head against the wall and thinking maybe this was a rival group and they'd kill each other off and he could sleep for a while in peace. He was so, _so_ tired and everything hurt. Maybe just for a little while? The team could wake him up when they arrived, right? Just a little sleep….

* * *

Face refused, out-and-out _refused_ to be left behind. It was a "bring me or shoot me" kind of refusal that Hannibal just couldn't argue with. Well, not without leaving Bosco at the base to hold Face down and there was no way Bosco would let himself be left behind either. So, Hannibal had let Face come with the strict instructions to sit in the back of the jeep, eat the rations they'd given him, drink the water in the small canteen and not move unless ordered to. Face had agreed immediately. Now, as their jeep approached the wreckage of the chopper, Face wished he'd argued the "stay put" point. They parked not too far from the main portion of the machine and Hannibal and B.A. got out. Face considered following them but the effort of scooting to the side window was enough to leave him panting so he opted for craning his neck out the window, trying to see into the cockpit past his team's bodies.

Hannibal paused partway to the downed chopper and visibly gathered himself before he made the last few steps to the cockpit… and swore under his breath. Bosco came up beside him and cursed as well, crouching to examine something. Face bit his lip and waited for the guys to move or say something, trying his very, very best to be patient but when he heard the muttered curses, his heart leapt to his throat and pounded there, panic fluttering in its place in his chest.

"Hannibal? What is it? Is he okay?" he called before he could stop himself. Hannibal glanced over at him before looking down at B.A.

"Sergeant?"

"Cut, Hannibal. Looks like a blowtorch. Real one, not somethin' one'a our guys could put together on the spot."

"And the tracks?"

"Jeep… but not the rescue team, sir. Jus' one an' it came from the other direction."

Face felt like the world had dropped out from beneath him. No one friendly would've been driving across the desert from the east. The only things out there were small villages and, eventually, the half-finished base that had gotten them all into this mess in the first place. Canteen forgotten on the seat beside him, Face shoved his door open and got out, horrible, awful images of Murdock dead, shot point blank, rushing through his mind. Hannibal was running a hand through his silver hair and cursing again, with a frustrated fury that made Face forget his dizziness and the drug-dulled pain in his chest in favor of a limping run to the cockpit door.

But the pilot's seat was empty. The worn helmet still sat on the controls between the pilot and copilot seats, and Face's sling was even still hung around the chair back, but no Murdock.

And the door was wide open, bent and smashed and hanging off its hinges.

The scent of blood hit his nose and Face suddenly felt faint, gripping the side of the chopper for support. There was blood on the seat, blood on the door, rivulets of blood dried and cracking on the dials and it was more than had been there when Face had been pulled away. Bosco was still examining the door, saying something about the size of the piece that'd been cut off but Face ignored him, turning to Hannibal with a fearful confusion he hadn't felt since… well, ever, really. He'd grown up in an orphanage. This team was the first real family he could remember and the thought of losing one of them made him feel sick and panicked. Still, he forced himself to ask. He had to. The truth couldn't possibly be as bad as his awful images playing in his brain.

"He's gone…. Hannibal, where-"

"He's been taken." The Colonel's voice was a rage-shaken snarl. "Probably by a rebel faction; small, but quick and usually well armed. They must be using a nearby village as a temporary base." He squinted into the distance, glaring hatred at the village too far to be seen that had harbored these monsters. Hannibal looked down as B.A. spoke.

"Hannibal?" The big mechanic tapped a spot on the door that Face recognized as the shard that'd been in Murdock's side… only- "Missin' a piece. Either they took it with 'em for a souvenir or..."

"Or it was still in him when they left," Hannibal finished softly. Face clenched his jaw shut and took a few deep, calming, painful breaths before he spoke.

"What now, boss?" _We don't give up, right?_ Hannibal turned to the lieutenant and Face suddenly thought that the look in the Colonel's eyes must be one most men don't live to describe to their buddies later. The blue eyes had gone cold and dark, threatening not fiery vengeance but something much, much worse.

"Now… _we_ take _them_."

* * *

Taking out the guards at the edge of the dusty village would've been simple for the team on a regular day. For a team with a sense of urgent purpose and a thirst for revenge, it was child's play. To be honest, the swift, brutal way Hannibal took down the men had kind of scared Face but at the same time it was comforting in a way to know that the Colonel would do anything and everything to protect his team. Once inside, they'd been directed by the frightened townsfolk to one of the run-down concrete buildings. Face was panting by the time they reached the doors, but he was thankful Hannibal didn't send him back to the jeep. They needed everyone on this and if Murdock was in bad shape, he'd be most likely to recognize Face first.

Still, Hannibal kept glancing at Face with a worried frown and ordered him to take up the rear, letting Bosco take point as they burst through the doors. The single story building was furnished by low cots against the walls and a table in the center with maps and charts spilling over onto the floor. There was a door on the right-hand wall and in the corner beside it was a chair in which an older man sat. He leapt to his feet as the team entered, showing his hands and speaking in hasty, broken English.

"Do not shoot! Please, do not shoot!" Hannibal rounded on the man instantly, Face and Bosco seconds behind him. The trembling Iraqi in front of them was wearing the worn, simple clothing of the villagers and the small black bag at the foot of the chair suggested the man was a physician of some sort. Hannibal nodded at the bag.

"Are you a doctor?"

"Yes!" The man nodded eagerly. "They make me come to heal American soldier." Face glanced at Hannibal for instruction and saw the older man's face soften just slightly.

"And did you?"

All three Rangers breathed a sigh of relief as the man nodded again.

"Yes. He was very bad… but alive." Hannibal lowered his weapon and Face and B.A. followed suit, watching their commander closely for any orders. The Colonel in turn watched the doctor as the man slowly lowered his hands and, at a nod from Hannibal, pulled a small cloth from the black bag at his feet. He unfolded it and held it out for them to see the triangular hunk of bloodstained metal inside. "The metal went deep. It was hard to remove and they left him only one day for rest." Face swallowed hard, trying not to blurt out the question pounding in his head. Hannibal must've sensed his Lieutenant's distress though because he addressed the doctor again.

"Where is he?" For a moment, Face thought the man might refuse to tell them. These rebels had taken over his village and who knew what they'd done since they'd showed up. They could very well have this man's family locked up somewhere. But the man actually looked relieved and pointed to the door.

"They keep him there. Five men, with guns and daggers." The team moved toward the door but the doctor stopped Hannibal with a hand on his arm. Sharp blue eyes met gentle, fearful brown and the villager lowered his voice before speaking. "Your friend... He is still unwell. He needs water and rest." The brown eyes softened sadly. "They would not let me help him drink." The man stepped back and Hannibal nodded.

"Thank you, Doctor. We'll take care of him." The doctor nodded and hurried away outside. At the same time, a voice shouted something Arabic on the other side of the door facing the team. A quick nod was all B.A. needed from the Colonel to take the door off its hinges with one powerful kick. Hannibal and Face followed immediately and for a few brief minutes, the world devolved into gunshots, shouts and fighting. Four of the men were taken down with little difficulty, although Face was only able to take one due to the throbbing pain in his ribs. By the time he'd knocked the man senseless with the butt of his pistol, Hannibal and B.A. had taken down the other three and were frozen, staring at the fifth and last man on the other side of the small room.

The rebel leader was panting and shaking with rage and Murdock was sitting on the ground beside him, slumped against the wall with his eyes closed and water dripping from his hair to the wet floor. _Why __**was**__ the floor wet?_ Murdock was wet too and shivering which was _bad_ because even indoors the desert heat was heavy and oppressive. The sight of the overturned bucket on the floor and the soaked cloth by the aged bunk sent a ripple of fury through Face's chest as he recognized the tools and their uses for torture. These thoughts flew from Face's mind, however, at the sight of the gun in the rebel leader's hand…

The gun that was pointed at Murdock's head.

In an instant, Face's gun joined Hannibal's and B.A.'s to point at the enemy. The man glared poison and hatred at them and snarled furiously in Arabic.

["Drop your weapons! Drop them or he _dies!"]_ To drive his point home, the man cocked the gun with a sharp click. At the sound, Murdock's eyes snapped open, staring in alarm at the dirty floor. The pilot's breathing hitched in his chest and he shifted weakly, pressing himself further into the corner and away from the gun-wielding enemy. _["Drop them now!"]_

"Boss?" Face sent a quick glance at Hannibal and saw the older man's jaw set in a grim line. He looked over at Face and gave the barest of nods, blue eyes flicking at the enemy and blinking twice before he slowly began to lower his gun to the floor. Face blinked back, acknowledging the coded orders. All three men began to lower their weapons, the Lieutenant keeping his finger on the trigger as he raised his other hand placatingly, just like the others. Then Hannibal turned to look at B.A.

"_Now_, Face!" It was a classic case of misdirection. The rebel leader followed Hannibal's gaze to B.A. and never saw the quick flick of the Lieutenant's wrist that aimed the bullet right at his heart. The gunshot was deafening. Blood spattered the dull grey walls, making Murdock flinch as it pattered down on his fatigues. Knowing Hannibal and Bosco could handle the rest, Face dropped his gun and scrambled over to Murdock whose breaths were coming in sharp, panicked gasps. Without thinking, Face put a hand on his friend's shoulder only to curse softly when Murdock jerked away. The pilot's head snapped up, dazed, unfocused green eyes meeting Face's worried gaze. Murdock blinked and squinted but didn't speak and Face didn't see any spark of recognition in his friend's eyes.

"Hey… Hey, Murdock, it's me, buddy. It's Face." Murdock blinked again, then grimaced and closed his eyes, hanging his head as his harsh, strained breaths grew faster and quicker. "Hey! Come on, man! Look at me!" Face reached out and slowly and gently put a hand on Murdock's shoulder. The only response was a soft shudder. Face moved to sit beside Murdock's half-bent knees, his own feet against the wall at Murdock's back. A soft whimper reached his ears and Face's heart sunk. Taking his friend's face in both hands, the Lieutenant turned Murdock to face him. Fever-bright green eyes watched him and Murdock swallowed hard. Face nearly groaned aloud as he recognized the hitched breaths as tearless sobs.

"Come on, Murdock… It's me. Say something, pal," Face pleaded, watching his best friend's eyes closely. No tears meant severe dehydration and that could mean fever and delirium too, or worse. The pilot's skin was already warm despite his shivers and the dirty room provided more than enough grime for infected wounds to be a serious threat. Murdock's jaw tightened, sobs shoved back and replaced by panting breaths as the Captain struggled to compose himself. Then he was glaring at Face and muttering through clenched teeth in a hoarse voice.

"M'n-not tellin' you anyth-thin'." Face let out a short, strained laugh.

"Murdock… What are you talking about?" Murdock's glare grew bitter and he pulled away from Face's hands. The movement caused a tortured groan to escape the captain's lips and he leaned his head against the wall for a few seconds to catch his breath. Then he spoke again in that same angry snarl, between gasps of air that said all too clearly that he was still in terrible pain.

"I said… I'm not tellin' you… anythin', you s-stinkin' T-R. So jus'… leave me… alone!" Suddenly Murdock arm lashed out, burns still standing out starkly against his pale skin as he reached for the fallen rebel leader's gun barely a foot from where he sat. Face wasn't sure what would've happened if Hannibal hadn't stepped in when he did. "T-R" or "Tusken Raiders" was a nickname for the enemy Murdock had come up with on his own, referencing the desert-dwelling aliens of Star Wars, and the fact that he was using it here was more than a little frightening. The Lieutenant wanted to believe that his friend wouldn't have attacked him, but three days without water and suffering from blood loss and infection meant Murdock was further out to sea than he'd been since they'd met, and Face honestly didn't know what was going through his friend's mind in those few seconds.

Hannibal saved him from finding out, though, by catching Murdock's wrist with lightning speed. The pilot winced and glared unfocusedly up at Hannibal. The Colonel frowned right back, not in anger, but rather with a cautioning firmness.

"Murdock?" Hannibal's voice was soft and careful but it didn't seem to calm the trembling pilot. Murdock just stared at the gun on the ground, his captured hand clenched in a tight fist and his breaths hissing between his teeth. Hannibal crouched beside Face, still holding Murdock's arm and said four words that somehow always seemed to penetrate even the deepest nightmares and psychosis the Captain suffered.

"Look at me, son."

Hesitant green eyes met calm blue and stared for a second. Then Murdock let out a short puff of air that was almost a laugh and his hand relaxed in Hannibal's grip. The Colonel let go and Face caught the Captain's arm as it moved to rest against Murdock's half-curled legs.

"Hey, you okay, man?" Murdock blinked fuzzily, looking down at where Face's fingers had his wrist, the lieutenant being sure not to touch the burnt skin. Murdock slowly uncurled his own fingers to tug at Face's sleeve. Face let him and found his hand being guided to Murdock's side where the pilot's right arm had been curled around his middle, palm pressed to the place the wound had been. Face's fingers found Murdock's torn shirt and the fabric was soaked through with something warmer than water. He looked up, startled and scared, to find Murdock watching him. The pilot closed his eyes and sighed when he saw Face's expression.

"Guess not… huh?" Murdock muttered. The grip on Face's sleeve slipped away and the Lieutenant drew his hand back, finding blood staining his fingertips.

"H-Hannibal!"

"I know, Face." Hannibal turned to look at B.A. who'd been standing guard by the door. "Bosco, gather up the weapons and leave them with the villagers. And make sure _these_," he jerked his chin at the nearest enemy, "are bound and gagged. The townsfolk can take care of them however they see fit once we're gone. Face, help me get him up." Bosco moved to obey and Face stood painfully, his ribs complaining again at the harsh treatment. He reached down and took Murdock's right hand while Hannibal hooked the pilot's left over his shoulders. They slowly lifted him, Face trying to ignore the dark red stain on his friend's palm as they did so. Murdock moaned miserably but they managed to get him upright and with his arms over their shoulders and Face made sure his left hand was pressed firmly against the wound in his friend's side.

The first step was more of a stumble for Murdock. By the time they reached the main room of the building, the pilot was shaking from head to toe, fists clenched and a new trail of blood slipping from his lip where his teeth dug into the flesh. Bosco returned from handing out the weapons, surveyed his team's slow shuffle and shook his head, jaw set.

"Stop." When Face and Hannibal both complied, turning to look at him curiously, Bosco stepped closer, waving them away. "Ain't no way he makes it t'the jeep like that." The burly mechanic stooped and lifted the lanky pilot into his arms. One arm behind Murdock's knees, the other supporting his back, Bosco stood and glared death threats at the others should they dare try to argue against his actions. Neither did. Face just kept his hand against the wound, walking by Bosco's side with his palm pressed between the big man's chest and the injury. It was an awkward way to go but Murdock breathed a sigh of relief and let his head rest against B.A.'s shoulder, utterly spent.

Hannibal took up the lead and they left, amid whispered thanks and promises of prayers for their hurt friend murmured in timid Arabic. Once at the jeep, B.A. laid Murdock as gently as he could across the back seats, Face crouching beside him on the floor, keeping a huge wad of gauze pressed against the wound. It was cramped and uncomfortable but he wouldn't have traded it for a luxury seat in a limousine.

* * *

They were no more than fifteen minutes from base when it happened and the event would remain scarred into Face's memory for the rest of his life.

It started with Murdock's breathing which slowly grew faster and faster until the wounded pilot seemed unable to draw in enough air to satisfy his lungs' cravings. Face held a hand to his friend's cheek in an attempt to ground him.

"Hey, calm down, buddy! You're okay, we're almost there." Murdock's wild green eyes found his face and focused, terror shining in their depths.

"I c-ca-can't!" he panted and Face swallowed down the panic rising in his own chest.

"Why not, man? Just take a deep breath. Come on, breathe with me." Face took his friend's hand, gently avoiding the burns, and held it to his own chest so Murdock could feel his slow, even breaths. The method worked remarkably well for the panic attacks and night terrors Murdock sometimes faced, but this was different. Face's thumb was pressed against Murdock's wrist and he could feel the pilot's pulse hammering so fast it was surreal and frightening.

"Hannibal, something's wrong!" Face felt Hannibal's eyes on his back and when the older man spoke it was in a strained, anxious rush.

"Nearly there, kid! Just hang on!" Face wasn't sure if Hannibal was talking to him or Murdock but it didn't matter because Murdock's hand was clutching at Face's shirt and his eyes were wide and terrified. Face squeezed Murdock's wrist in a way he hoped was comforting, his other hand still pushing the gauze against his friend's blood-soaked side.

"You're gonna be fine, Murdock, okay? Just hang on for one more minute! We're almost there!" Murdock's eyes remained locked on Face's as his chest heaved up and down with his desperate gasps. But it was the soft strained voice that whimpered between stilted breaths that would haunt Face's nightmares.

"Fa-ac-cy… I do-n-n't w-wan' t'g-go."

"Don't want to go? Whadd'you mean, buddy? We're going home! We're taking you back to the…" Face trailed off, his own eyes widening in horror as he suddenly understood. Before he could form words past the terror choking his voice, before he could shout and drill it through the scruffy-haired pilot's head that he _wasn't_, just _wasn't_ going to die… consciousness faded from Murdock's eyes. The hand clutching Face's shirt went limp in his grasp and Face watched, frozen, as his best friend's lids drooped, half covering the unfocused, green-eyed gaze.

Barely a second later, the seizure began.

Face heard Hannibal curse and order B.A. to floor it but he didn't notice if they went any faster. Every bit of his attention was focused on keeping the pressure on Murdock's wound as his friend bucked and jerked, every inch of his body rebelling and leaping as if each muscle was trying to escape in a different direction. Face moved to sit next to Murdock, nearly falling on him in his haste and cursing the bumpy roads. Keeping the gauze in place with his hip, Face tore his bandanna from around his own neck and rolled it up, forcing it between his friend's teeth in a desperate attempt to save him from chipping a tooth or biting his tongue. The seizure raged on, Murdock jolting and writhing horribly and Face struggling to keep his own heart from hammering through his still aching ribs. Then, seconds before the jeep came to a skidding stop outside the medic's tent, Murdock went limp.

Face hadn't noticed that they'd reached the base. He didn't even notice Hannibal and B.A. rushing from the vehicle to get help. All he saw was the stillness, the sudden, jarring limpness of his friend. Face shook his head, cursing himself for freezing up and set the bandanna aside, checking his friend's pulse with a shaking hand. A faint beat fluttered at his fingertips and Murdock's eyes closed, ragged breaths fading to just a whisper of air.

"No… No, no, no, buddy, don't do this." Face leant in, supporting Murdock's head with his hands and pressing his forehead against the cool skin of his friend's. "Come on, Murdock, wake up." Face's voice was barely more than a choked mutter. He tried to stroke a smudge of dirt from his friend's face but forgot his hand was soaked with Murdock's blood. His thumb left a red smear across the pale cheek and Face could feel something inside himself shaking, pushing the tremors into his voice. "Come on, man, you promised me. You swore you'd be alive, and bailing out right when we get home is cheating." Face knew he was stretching the boundaries of Murdock's promise but this just wasn't _fair_, it wasn't right that Murdock should survive such an awful crash, survive a makeshift surgery in the middle of nowhere, only to die minutes, seconds even, before help arrived. Hot tears stung at Face's eyes and he pulled back, looking down at Murdock's ashen features and feeling desperation clawing at his chest.

"Murdock, please! _Please_, wake up." A huffing, almost manic laugh broke through Face's gasps. "You gotta wake up, buddy, or I'm gonna wind up being the one who's crazy!" Another laugh broke on its way out and turned into a choked sob. "_Please!"_ Murdock didn't respond. He remained still, cold and pale on the cracked leather seats. "Murdock….?" Tears blurred Face's vision and he barely noticed when the car doors opened and someone's strong hands pulled him out, leading him to a chair and standing beside him with a hand on his shoulder. The desert was hot but Face felt cold. He sat there for a time, breathing deeply to disguise his tears but knowing Hannibal would see through it. He always did. After a while, a gentle voice rumbled overhead, dark grey like the whisper of thunder in the distance.

"Let's get you to a bunk, kid. You look like you're about to pass out." Face didn't answer, just let himself be led into the medic's tent and to an empty bunk. He fell asleep only when the nurse came by with a sedative, and Hannibal's work-roughened hand never left his arm.

_Author's Note: One more chapter to go! Update coming next Monday! :D_


	3. Or Not At All

_Author's Note: Many MANY thanks to all those who reviewed! You kept my plot bunneh happily fed and working and deserve a bucket-load of tasty cookies (with milk this time ;) ). _

_Without further ado… here's the last chapter!_

Chapter 3: Or Not At All

Face felt heavy and drowsy and warm, and he kind of liked it except for the heat-heavy air around him and the pressure in his chest that he knew would've meant pain if he hadn't been drugged up to the gills. He let himself drift for a while, sleeping off and on until he woke feeling more rested and curious to know what crazy plan had landed him in the medic's tent this time. It was an irritating after-effect of the drugs that he didn't remember what had happened to him. It always seemed to work out this way and sometimes the team, especially Murdock, would take advantage of it, weaving outlandish stories about the "incident" that'd caused his newest injury. He was never quite sure if the stories were real or not because, sometimes, Murdock would tell him the truth just to keep him on his toes. More often than not, when Face guessed on their validity or falsehood, he guessed wrong… to the endless amusement of his teammates.

Face closed his eyes and tried to think back, preparing himself for a bounding, energetic Murdock to burst in with Hannibal and B.A. in tow. He remembered crashing in a chopper. Maybe that was it? No… because he'd spoken with Hannibal after that and something had been wrong…. Some_one_ had been….

Bright blue eyes snapped open, staring at the tent ceiling until it came into focus before scanning the rest of the room. There were other soldiers there, being treated for various superficial injuries. He was in the "walk-in clinic" area of the med-tents then, not the smaller back rooms where the most seriously injured men were watched and cared for night and day. A heavy, dragging weight filled his chest. It was the tent at the other end he needed. The darkened tent reserved for fallen friends and a beer shared with no-one beside a makeshift casket. Face sat up and waited for the world to stop spinning before he got to his feet and moved toward the room. Someone had changed his clothes, probably the doctors. It made sense that they'd want to get him out of the shirt and pants that were stained with blood that wasn't his own. That thought hurt and he shook his head, banishing the painful thoughts and focusing on the physical pain instead. His ribs did hurt, not nearly as much as he'd expected, though, and he felt less dizzy but just as lost and hurt as when he'd woken up the first time with Hannibal at his bedside.

No one stopped him from pushing the flap aside and stepping into the dark tent. Face shuddered despite the heat, wrapping his bare arms around his middle, feeling somehow small and exposed in his tan tee and uniform pants. He wandered down the row of cots, ignored or unquestioned by the nurses cleaning and arranging the men killed when a caravan of their jeeps had been bombed unexpectedly. When he reached the end of the row on the left, he started back, checking the faces on the other side. Face expected to see him eventually, expected but wasn't ready to. Never ready to see his brother's face, pale and still under the soft light.

But Murdock wasn't there.

Confused, Face looked again but his friend wasn't among the stiff bodies lining both walls. A lump rose in his throat. Where had they taken him? They hadn't sent him away already, had they? Not without letting his team say goodbye? Face looked up as a familiar form slipped past the hanging tent flap. He swallowed hard and spoke, his voice hoarse and croaky.

"Where is he? Hannibal, where'd they take him?" The soft blue eyes watching him widened and something in them seemed to break, pushing a rarely seen expression of concern and hurt on the weather-worn Colonel's face. Hannibal held out an arm, beckoning Face closer.

"He's not in here, kid. Come on." Face followed and was grateful for the strength and sturdiness of the arm across his shoulders. Hannibal led him back into the clinic then through to the tent on the other side, the "ER" of sorts in their makeshift hospital. The Colonel stopped beside one of the beds and Face looked up. For a moment, he thought maybe Murdock _was_ dead and they'd just run out of room in the other tent. It'd happened before. But then he saw Murdock's chest rise and fall, heard the gentle, even breaths, saw the other man shift slightly on the old cot and something inside him let go, leaving him shaky and light-headed with relief. Hannibal guided him to a chair, speaking softly so as not to wake the sleeping pilot.

"He's going to be fine, Face. We got him here just in time." The Colonel put a hand on his arm and swore softly. "I'm sorry, kid. I just sent Bosco to get some rest. I didn't… _think!_ I didn't think you'd be up so soon or I would've been there." Face reached out and took Murdock's hand, rubbing a thumb along the bandages that covered the burns on his friend's arm.

"It's okay, Boss," he said automatically, not really thinking. Hannibal's hand on his shoulder drew his attention and Face turned to see a dark, stern look in his commander's eyes.

"It's _not_ 'okay', Face. You should've been brought straight here, not left to think... to think he was gone." Face swallowed down the lump in his throat. "I _am_ sorry, Face." He looked it and all Face could do was nod. He'd have to make sure the older man didn't hang onto this and beat himself up over it. For now though, Face was lucky he wasn't sobbing like a teenage girl dumped right before prom night. He turned back to Murdock and let the gentle rise and fall of his best friend's chest calm him as Hannibal continued.

"The doctor came by already. He said that old Arab did a hell of a job patching up our pilot. We owe him quite a lot." Face nodded, taking in a deep shuddering breath.

"How bad was it?"

Hannibal moved his chair to sit side by side with Face, returning his hand to the younger man's shoulder when he was settled.

"The metal went right between his ribs and nicked his lung. He lost a lot of blood, tore our miracle doctor's stitches and had a bad fever before we even got there. On top of that, he was severely dehydrated." Hannibal sighed, rubbing his eyes wearily. "According to the Doctors, you add all that up and you get a seizure…" The Colonel ran a hand through his silver hair and gave Face a tired, but relieved smile. "That and a few more white hairs." Face let out a breathy chuckle, turning back to Murdock. The pilot's fingers were warm against his, the bandages crisp and clean, the IVs hooked up and administering medication and fluids and there wasn't a trace of blood to be seen. Face breathed a sigh of pure relief and let his head drop to rest against the edge of the cot by Murdock's arm.

Face hadn't prayed in a long, long while, but right then, he was thanking God in every tongue he knew.

* * *

When Murdock drifted from a sea of drug-induced sleep back to shore, it was to the sound of Face's voice somewhere to his left.

"I told you, Hannibal, I'm fine. I swear, man, if you don't stop blaming yourself for this, I'm going to have to do something about it." Hannibal's voice came back, also to Murdock's left but more toward his feet, amused but still serious.

"Face, it was a stupid mistake-"

"You got that right." Bosco's voice muttered from Murdock's right.

"- but I'm not about to just forget it! It was my fault you thought what you did, even for so little a time and it was my responsibility to be there when you woke up."

"I'm not a three-year-old, Boss." Face's voice was definitely amused. "And you neglected to mention the fact that _you_ hadn't slept at all since the day Pike brought me back here."

"I slept!"

"Closin' your eyes for a minute don't count, Hannibal." Murdock felt a flutter of amusement at Bosco's words. The big guy was the only one who could get away with telling off Hannibal and most of the time it was about sleeping… or lack thereof. The Colonel was usually up late making his intricate plans and Murdock often stayed up with him, preferring the company to lying awake in bed with his good buddy Insomnia.

"I'll have you know I'm very good at catching a few winks here and there. As a matter of fact, I was doing just that when you two came in here."

Murdock could almost see Hannibal crossing his arms in a self-satisfied sort of way and it made the amusement in his chest grow. _Way to go, Hannibal! Fight the power! Insomniacs unite!_ Face's voice spoke again, incredulously.

"_You_… were _sleeping?_ You really expect us to believe that?"

_You'd better believe it, Faceyman. That's Hannibal magic for ya._

"No. But it doesn't need your belief to be the truth." Face laughed and Murdock could feel giggles tickling at his throat.

"You're kidding me, right? Hannibal, you were _sitting up! Staring at the door!_ You nearly gave me a heart-attack walking in here!" Bosco was chuckling now too and Murdock wished he'd been there to see Face's expression when he was suddenly faced with an entirely unexpected Hannibal stare.

"Did I?" Murdock imagined Hannibal's mock-confused shrug. "I'm very sorry, Face. I just don't remember…."

"Okay, now you're just being- Holy sh- Murdock!"

Hands grabbed his shoulders and Murdock realized he was laughing, only the sound his hoarse, disused throat was making sounded far more like a choking asthmatic cat and that thought only made him laugh harder. He opened his eyes, blinking and squinting through tears of mirth to find Face sitting on the edge of the cot, facing him not unlike he had back at the chopper, only this time there was no massive bit of metal in his side and Murdock was thankful for that. But his leg felt wet and that was strange. He frowned, giggles fading to just a chuckle or two between breaths and he blinked again, only just noticing the strong arm holding him upright. Bosco. Huh, he really did care. Murdock snickered and Face's concerned frown deepened. Murdock realized he'd been asked a question, something along the lines of "Are you okay?" He coughed a little, cleared his throat and rasped, "Y-Yeah. Um… Face…?"

"Yeah, what is it, bud?" Murdock couldn't keep a wry smile from tugging at his lips.

"Why… Why's my leg bleedin' beer?" Face stared at him for a second then looked down. An instant later, Murdock was cracking up again because Face had leapt off the bed like a cat sprayed with water and snatched up his now mostly empty beer bottle. Hannibal was chuckling too as Face cursed and shook the drops of beer from his hands, looking down at himself only to find a dark stain right on the seat of his pants.

"Aw, sh- Hannibal!" The Colonel was laughing too hard to speak. Instead, he looked up at the irate Lieutenant innocently. "You were behind me! Why didn't you say 'Hey, Face, your beer's spilling all over everything?"

"Sorry, Face…" Hannibal managed between chuckles. "I did-didn't notice." Face turned an incredulous look on B.A. who was also shaking with laughter.

"M-Must'a been asleep."

The world dissolved into laughter and it went on long enough for a medic to come in and order them to "stop riling up the patient, for crying out loud, he's only just out of surgery!" Naturally, they all faked straight faces until the man was out of earshot. As the laughter died down, Murdock began to feel sleepy again. He knew it was because he was recovering but at the same time, memories were stirring and he remembered a promise he'd made. The other stuff was there too, dark and painful stuff about crashing and bleeding, pain and drowning, but it was the promise that stood out and the promise he hung onto.

Bosco gently lowered him down onto the pillow when he saw the pilot's eyes beginning to droop but Murdock protested, squirming weakly.

"No, I don' wan' t'sleep." A hand patted his leg and Hannibal's voice reached his ears.

"It's alright, Captain. You need your rest."

"I can't." He opened his eyes blearily, sleep already fogging his brain. "I promised." Face swam into view overhead, expression apologetic and understanding.

"It's okay, Murdock. We're past that already. You get some sleep." Murdock didn't have the strength left to nod. He just closed his eyes with a happy sigh, letting sleep take him and resting in the comfort of his friends by his side.

* * *

Epilogue: A Promise

A week or so of rest and expert care from the doctors saw Murdock up and moving, if a bit gingerly. He was still confined to the clinic area but he was allowed out of bed which thrilled him no end. Of course, that left it up to the team to keep him occupied because a bored Murdock was by far more dangerous than anything else Face could think of at the moment. Thankfully, he had a cure for boredom tucked under his arm and a soda – caffeine free – to coax the pilot away from his new favorite game: Hug Bosco.

Face entered the tent to find the game already pretty far along. Murdock stood by his cot, arms wrapped around Bosco's middle, pinning the bigger man's arms to his sides. B.A. was stiff as a board and looked to be entering the early stages of resignation. There was little he could do to remove the clingy captain without causing the stitches in Murdock's side to pop and there was no way any of them risked that, no matter how peeved they got. Still, Bosco was looking more and more like a volcano waiting to erupt and Murdock's chuckles and goading wasn't helping matters.

"Come on, big guy. Even you gotta admit this is waaay better n'tinkerin' with machines all day long, right? I mean, just imagine the look on that pretty Private Johnson's face if she walked in here right now!" Bosco looked down at the scruffy-haired pilot, shaking his head warningly with his eyebrows raised in an "I won't be responsible for what happens to you" sort of way.

"Don't do that. I mean it, man. You already rackin' up plenty'a beatin's jus' doin' this."

"Awww, really? You're keepin' track?" Murdock gave B.A. a squeeze, unaware or unconcerned by the fists tightening at the bigger man's sides.

"Yeah, I'm keepin' track. An' if you bring her into this, I'm gonna tie your fool arms around your fool neck!" Murdock looked up and frowned disapprovingly.

"That would hurt."

Barely holding back his chuckles, Face approached, holding up the soda and shaking it enticingly.

"Hey, Romeo, why don't you let Juliet there go and come take a look at what I brought you?" Bosco growled but Face's arrival did the trick and Murdock released his captive, bounding over to sit beside Face on the cot. Face winced, holding out a hand to slow the bundle of human energy.

"Whoa, man! Stitches, remember?" Murdock slowed slightly but couldn't seem to help bouncing in place slightly with excitement.

"Whad'ja bring me, Facey? Huh? Huh? Huh?" Bosco shook his head, gathering up his toolbox and the gadgets he'd been working on and heading for the door. He paused to point a finger at Face.

"_You_ give him sugar, _you_ stay up with him. I ain't goin' through anotha' round of 'Find the Camel Spider', got it?" Face shuddered, remembering the game that'd nearly caused Bosco to discharge his pistol in the tent and had caused Face to make a noise (which he insisted to this day had NOT been a scream) which had labeled him "little-girl-scared" according to the proud "Spider Wrangler" Murdock. Camel spiders were big, nasty, ugly things that, in addition to being half a foot long, could also run fast enough to scare the living daylights out of anyone unfortunate enough to encounter them. Nodding and forcing a smile past his dread, Face suddenly wondered if soda was such a good idea. Still… hyper Murdock wasn't as bad as drunk Murdock who tended to decide clothes were optional and spreading the news essential so soda was still a better option than beer. Face passed the soda over and dumped a pile of comic books and crossword puzzles onto the bunk.

"Thought you could use a little entertainment in here," Face explained as Murdock's eyes widened at the sight of the treasures. "Of course why you'd choose these over some of _my_ magazines I just can't figure." Murdock set his soda aside, snatching up one of the crossword puzzle books and flipping to a random page and smirking at Face.

"Says the guy who dies laughin' re-readin' the ones I've finished."

"Okay, now I _know_ you did some of those on purpose."

"Some've what?" Murdock asked innocently, looking around for a pen.

"Capitalizing every other letter… filling in every answer with made up words… or changing the hints to things like 'Lyrics from Pike's favorite song'?" Face was chuckling just thinking about that one. He seriously doubted Pike had ever even heard the My Little Pony theme song and it was only because of Murdock that Face even knew the thing existed. Thinking of Pike though caused a flare of anger in Face's chest and he fell silent, watching Murdock answer "two down" with "temperspatialcushionsite," cramming multiple letters into a box to make it fit. Something had been nagging at the back of Face's mind for a while now and if there was ever going to be a good time to bring it up… it was now.

"Hey… Murdock?"

"Hmm?"

"What…" Shoot, this was harder than he'd thought. "What did you mean when… when you said what you did in the jeep?" Murdock paused, mid-nonsense word, and turned a quizzical look on Face.

"When I said what?" Face swallowed hard. The green eyes watching him curiously weren't sharp, terrified and hurting like they had when the words had been spoken but that didn't make it any easier for Face to voice them.

"When-" He cleared his throat awkwardly. "When you said that… that you didn't want to go." Something of that pain and fear flashed in Murdock's eyes and he hesitated, then smiled, wide and fake, before he spoke.

"Nothin'. Maybe it was a quote from some movie. It could'a been anything. Hannibal said I had a bad fever, right?"

"Right." Face nodded, unconvinced. "But there was something… there. Something about the way you said it, man. You meant something else, I know you did." Murdock was tapping the paper with the end of his pen now and fidgeting nervously. He flashed a brief smile at Face, not really meeting his eyes.

"'Somethin' 'there', huh? An' they say I'm the one who's crazy."

"Don't kid around with me, Murdock. Not about this." Face made sure his voice was just stern enough to ward off any further jokes. Apologetic green eyes flicked toward him again before fixing on the pen which was now being turned over and over in the pilot's hands. Face continued, softer this time because although they were the only people in the little clinic right now, that didn't mean someone could still come walking in at any time. "Look… You scared the life out of me back there, okay? I mean…" Face sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair and trying to find the words to describe the situation. He knew there was something deeper behind the words his friend had said back in the jeep. Something beyond just a fear of death but for the life of him, he couldn't find a simple, smooth way to ask. "It's just… We're all afraid to die, Murdock, but… man…."

"I'm not." Murdock's voice was so matter-of-fact that it took Face a minute to realize what he'd just said.

"What?"

"Dyin's okay, I guess… if it's done right." Murdock was talking softly, still not meeting Face's eyes. Instead, he was carefully folding the corner of the crossword page between two fingers, rubbing his thumb along the crease, and then folding it the other way. "I mean, if you die because you ran into a burnin' building to save some kids, or 'cause you took a bullet for a friend or somethin', then… then that's okay, but…." Murdock closed his eyes, frowning and shaking his head before opening them and starting again. "I'm… I'm not afraid of dyin'… I'm afraid of leavin'."

"Leaving?" The Captain nodded gently. "Leaving where?"

"It's not where…" Murdock swallowed and continued, his voice suddenly sounding thicker. "… it's who." Face stayed quiet, fighting to see the logic behind Murdock's words. The pilot continued, eyes bright and a hint of fear in his voice. "All my life I've been moved from one place to another… when my parents died, when I joined the Army, an' in all those institutions afterward. I never really had a place, y'know?" He looked over at Face and the Lieutenant nodded mutely. Murdock's eyes went back to his lap and he went on. "Until you guys came along in Mexico, I'd never belonged anywhere an'… an' now I do. See, it's… It's not the dyin' part of dyin' I'm scared of it's… the bein' someplace else." Green eyes searched the Lieutenant's face, pleading with him to understand. "Wherever it is that people go wh-when they die, it's not _here!_ An' I belong _here_, not… not there… right?"

Face didn't consider himself a touchy-feely person when it came to the team. The ladies saw a different side of him but with the guys it was usually just a slap on the back or a playful punch that did the trick and calmed the nerves. Now though, with those watery green eyes staring at him, begging him to say something and have it be the right thing, Face did the only thing he could do. He pulled Murdock into a tight hug, thanking his lucky stars no one else was in the room because after a brief second of surprised shock, Murdock crumpled against him, not really sobbing but shaking and clinging to Face's shirt like a falling man to a cliff.

The shaking slowly faded and Murdock pulled back, sniffling and rubbing at his eyes. Swallowing the lump in his own throat, Face bent to look Murdock in the eye, resting a hand on the back of his friend's neck comfortingly.

"Hey, Murdock?" Face waited until the pilot's eyes met his before he continued. "I know Hannibal hasn't given you 'The Lecture' yet because he usually waits till you're fully recovered to spring it on you." Murdock frowned confusedly and Face shook his head. "Just trust me on that one. But here's a quick summary." Murdock cocked his head questioningly and Face smiled. "We go out together, or not at all. And with the Colonel, that's an order _and_ a promise." A genuine, if hesitant smile spread across Murdock's face and the Lieutenant considered that a sign of victory. Then the lanky pilot chuckled and a hint of mischief flickered in his eyes as he spoke.

"You sure are smart for a little brother, ain't you?"

Face laughed.

"Hey! Who said I was the younger brother, huh? You're the one who beelines for the toy aisle at WalMart!"

"Hannibal said, that's who." Face searched Murdock's twinkling eyes for signs of deception.

"… He didn't…" Murdock snickered gleefully and reached out to ruffle Face's hair.

"Don't dis Dad, Facey-wacey." Face did his very, very best to look offended and swatted Murdock's hand away, the chuckles escaping him totally ruining the irritated and mature look he was going for.

"If Hannibal's 'dad', what does that make Bosco?" Murdock paused.

"Our big, muscular, adopted sister mechanic, that's who." Murdock grinned proudly and Face reveled in the few minutes of giddy laughter that image provided. Wiping the tears from his eyes, Face finally managed to speak past his giggles.

"W-We are one messed up family, bud."

"Yup."

"So…" Face retrieved Murdock's fallen pen and passed it over, gesturing to the unfinished crossword in the other man's lap. "What on earth is a 'temperspatialcushionsite' anyway?" Murdock accepted the proffered pen, checked off 'two down' and answered in that matter-of-fact way that always had Face in stitches for days afterward.

"It's a place to take a short nap, of course." Face shook his head, laughter tickling in his chest again.

"How do you come up with these things?"

"Easy, jus' put bits of words together an' make a new one." Face thought for a moment, leaning back on one arm and taking a sip of his soda.

"Give me an example."

"Like… streypaghambles," Murdock offered.

"Ex… tan… simpregrity?"

"Means 'extensive, simple, integrity'." Murdock came back, without missing a beat.

"Cab… nar…. katarxis?"

"I think that one means somethin' rude." Murdock smirked. Face laughed and set his soda aside, folding his arms behind his head and kicking back to think up more nonsense words for his friend to translate. It wasn't long after Murdock translated "Portaswillfillafecetopia" as "Pike's birthplace" that Hannibal walked in to find Face hardly able to breathe and Murdock sitting smugly with his back against the sturdy tent wall and a comic book open on his lap, watching his friend crack up beside him. Hannibal just shook his head and smiled, leaving the two boys to their game and making a mental note to check in on them later in case Face broke a rib laughing.

And if Pike was taken aside on his way back to his tent and emerged from between the walls of tents looking pale as a ghost, Face and Murdock didn't question it. They both knew the destructive power of Bosco's strength and Hannibal's threats, and there was no danger of retaliation to fear. Still… when several camel spiders mysteriously found their way into Pike's bunk a few days later, Face made sure he was there to record the screams because if he'd ever needed proof Murdock was good as new… that was it.

_Author's Note: Wooohoooo! Story complete! My eternal gratitude to all my wonderful reviewers! I'm working on a longer A-Team story right now. Still Murdock whumpage but more… intense, I suppose. Not sure when it'll be posted, though… I've gotta get Face and Hannibal to cooperate with narration and get their facts straight before I can start posting. ;P _

_Until next time, Muchachos!_

_Scholar_


End file.
